Her Strange Gaze
The Northern Grand Duchess. Monarch of the frozen wastes. A ruthless slaughterer who carved through any enemy—monster or man—without hesitation or mercy. And yet there was something unmistakably odd about the way she looked at me.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at first. Those crimson eyes, usually so cold they could freeze the air itself, seemed to soften whenever they landed on me. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but once I saw it I couldn’t unsee it. Like a predator deciding whether to devour its prey… or keep it.
My name is Alice. Or at least, that’s who I am now. I still remember the life I left behind—the dull routine of an ordinary office worker who fell asleep at his desk one night and woke up inside the body of a young maid in a world straight out of a novel I’d skimmed years ago. A story filled with war, demons, and a particularly infamous yandere Grand Duchess who was destined to die a tragic death after losing the one person she ever cared for.
That person, according to the original plot, was supposed to be me. Or rather, the original Alice. A disposable servant whose death would trigger the Duchess’s descent into madness.
Yeah. No thanks.
I’d spent the last few years doing everything possible to avoid that fate. I kept my head down, performed my duties flawlessly, and tried my best to be useful without getting too close. Polite smiles, perfect curtsies, and carefully neutral conversation. The sort of behavior that screamed professional distance.
But the Duchess—Eleanor von Valaxar—never seemed to get the message.
She would summon me at odd hours, watching silently while I poured her tea or organized her documents. Sometimes she’d reach out and brush a strand of hair from my face without warning, her fingers lingering just a second too long. Her voice, when she spoke to me, was always gentle in a way that terrified me more than any battlefield roar ever could.
“Alice,” she’d murmur, that low, velvety tone wrapping around my name like a chain. “You won’t leave me, will you?”
I always answered the same way—calm, respectful, the picture of a loyal servant.
“Of course not, Your Grace. My place is here at the duchy.”
Inside my head, however, the thoughts were anything but refined.
Oh my god, she’s doing it again. That’s the third time this week. Lady, please, I’m trying not to die here. Stop looking at me like I’m your favorite stuffed animal and you’re debating whether to hug me or set the world on fire if anyone else touches me.
Because that was the problem. The original novel had been vague about the exact nature of the Duchess’s attachment, but being inside the story made it painfully clear. Eleanor wasn’t just fond of me. She was obsessed. And in a world where she could snap her fingers and have an entire army kneel before her, that obsession was quickly becoming dangerous.
For both of us.
Tonight the northern winds howled against the castle walls as I stood in her private study, candlelight flickering across ancient tapestries depicting long-dead heroes and slain dragons. Eleanor sat at her massive oak desk, quill hovering over a report about demon sightings near the border. Her silver hair caught the light like threads of moonlight, and those sharp, blood-red eyes kept drifting back to me no matter how still I tried to stand.
“You seem nervous tonight,” she said suddenly. Her voice was soft, almost playful, but I knew better. There was always an undercurrent of something darker beneath it.
I offered my most practiced smile. “It’s only the cold, Your Grace. The wind is particularly fierce this evening.”
She rose from her chair with the fluid grace of someone who had never lost a battle, crossing the room until she stood directly in front of me. Even though I was taller, she somehow always seemed to tower over me in moments like this. Her hand came up, gloved fingers tracing the line of my jaw with terrifying tenderness.
“Liar,” she whispered. “I know every expression you make, Alice. I’ve memorized them all.”
Okay, that’s definitely yandere territory. Abort mission. Someone please reload this save file.
I kept my breathing steady. “If I have displeased you in some way—”
“You could never displeased me.” Her thumb brushed my lower lip, and for a moment her eyes flashed with that terrifying intensity I’d come to recognize as pure, unfiltered possession. “You’re the only thing in this wretched world that belongs to me completely. Remember that.”
She leaned in closer, until her forehead nearly touched mine.
“No matter what happens… you’re mine, Alice. And I will burn everything to ash before I let anyone take you away.”
The fire in the hearth crackled loudly in the silence that followed. I swallowed hard, mind racing through every possible response that wouldn’t accidentally trigger a full-blown obsessive meltdown.
In the end, I simply bowed my head slightly, the way a proper maid should.
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Inside, my thoughts were screaming.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m definitely not trapped in a fantasy world with a walking war crime who thinks I’m her emotional support human. I just need to survive until the demon king is defeated and maybe, just maybe, find a way to make her less… murderously attached to me.
But as Eleanor’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile and her fingers intertwined with mine, I had the distinct feeling that “less attached” was never going to be an option.
After all, in the original story, the Grand Duchess only ever had one weakness.
And that weakness was currently holding her hand like its life depended on it.
Because it did.